大象传媒

Extract from the diaries of Frank Masters who at the time of Dunkirk
In 1940 was a trained nurse and a Corporal in the Royal Medical Corps.

Dawn broke and a plane came and strafed the jetty increasing the number of wounded. Then, out of the mist, loomed an old cross channel ferry, The Maid of Orleans, and nestled against the end of the jetty. We carried the wounded to the gang plank the sailors hastily positioned to enable boarding to take place. An armed Naval Officer ordered 鈥淲ounded only鈥� and we passed our stretcher to the ratings on the boat and ere ordered back on to the jetty. We eased our way back towards the harbour wondering if we would ever get back to England. Then a Destroyer came out of the harbour astern and firing its gun landwards. It came very close to the jetty and a Petty Officer shouted to us to jump aboard or be captured as this was the last ship leaving Dunkirk. It was about a ten foot drop and a couple of feet from the jetty and moving slowly. Four of us did not hesitate as the decision had to be made in split second and we landed into the arms of the sailors who tried to break our fall. A bit dazed and bruised we were pushed under the gun mounting but after the next shot was fired we evacuated what could have been a safe hole in which to hide from the planes who had returned and attempted to sink the ship. A Corporal from B Company opted for the safe haven and crawled back under the gun but unfortunately his hearing was damaged by the time we got out to sea. The trip to England was very peaceful and sleep took over our fatigued and bruised bodies. Whenever I hear the 鈥淲hite Cliffs of Dover鈥� in song I always remember that wonderful sight on a sunny morning in 1940 it was the third day of June and The Maid of Orleans had been the last ship to evacuate casualties from Dunkirk. Some small boats continued to run the gauntlet to the beaches and take off a few more French, Belgian and British soldiers. We arrived at Dover about seven o鈥檆lock and the dishevelled, subdued and motley array of soldiery, in different levels of attire, climbed the gang planks and were ushered into waiting railway trains. When fully loaded the train puffed out of the station, through the docks, passed Dover and headed North through the English countryside. The train drew into a station, nobody seemed to get up to look out of the window, the passengers sat dazed, unable to believe the horrors of the past few weeks were not going to burst upon them at any moment. Ladies, some in WVS uniform, others wearing pinafores, but all wearing a smile, many of them forced through the odd tear that forced itself down the cheek at the pitiful sight of some of those who were overwhelmed when offered a mug of tea and a sandwich 鈥� many could not remember when food or drink last passed their lips. The ladies had been working in very long shifts making the sandwiches and boiling the tea to provide this invaluable service twenty four hours a day over the period of the evacuation. Some offered welcome cigarettes, no doubt from their own resources as was most of the refreshments. The gratitude of the recipients remains today and was often mentioned in meetings of Dunkirk Veterans throughout the Kingdom.
We chugged through Southern England most of the day. I remember going through Reading twice, the driver no doubt awaiting a decision as where we were to end our journey and the Guard told us as we waited at a station that he had no idea where we might finish up as accommodation was sought in different towns to accommodate the 250,000 who eventually completed that short sea trip across the channel. In the late evening we were back at the seaside but this time it was Wales and the platform sign said Porthcawl We were ferried in buses to an old warehouse outside the town given two blankets and some soup. Before it was dark the only sound was the odd snore as peace and tranquillity surrounded the exhausted and frightened bodies that lay in rows on the concrete floor Sleep, sleep, sleep only disturbed by the occasional nightmare of some tortured brain reliving his more recent past.
We were left to our own devices and the next day I telephoned Auntie Ada on the instigation of a kindly old lady who stopped us in the street and gave each of us two pence to make the call. Auntie Ada was the only member of the family with a telephone and she cycled from Oakland Road in Aigburth to my mothers house in Statton Road to give her the good news. We visited the pub occasionally and became embarrassed when the locals plied us with drink and refused to allow us to return the hospitality. We went to the Marina Ballroom but were not allowed to dance in our boots 鈥� some tried it in stocking feet. A gentleman accompanied by his wife asked me if I would like a pair of dancing slippers and on my agreement took me to his shop, a chemist by trade, and produced the shoes that kept me company for many months afterwards. We were all clothed in battledress, boots and gaiters, given a spare shirt and a towel. On pay day we were given two pounds to buy shaving material and underwear. After about a week, back to the station for another ride on a train. When we eventually reached Birmingham we were all sorted and dispatched to different parts of the country. By nightfall we arrived north of the border at Inverurie, then bussed to Huntly in Aberdeenshire. In the castle grounds we met up with the remnants of our unit who were living in Bell tents. Security was tight to avoid absconding. Another week went by under a more disciplined regime as the military machine was recranked. Then a leave pass for 48 hours to go home. It took 27 hours to reach Liverpool arriving after darkness fell. On leaving Exchange station the military and civilian police directed us to the State Ballroom in Dale Street where we had to bed down on bunks in the cellar because the Air Raid Sirens told us what was happening and movement on the streets was forbidden. I climbed into a bunk and lay down wondering if I would ever get home, and would it still be there after the raid. When the bombs stopped falling sleep was next on the menu and on waking the next morning an Air Force chap in the opposite bunk with his arm in a sling watched me put on my battledress top and then enquired if I had been in France, I thought this was just a polite conversation until, whilst putting on his jacket he said 鈥渞emember me outside Douie鈥�. His wings emblazoned on his jacket triggered my memory 鈥� he was the pilot I rescued from his downed Spitfire. He thanked me profusely for helping him in France. He had just been discharged from hospital and lived in Chester. It was still dark but after the sirens gave the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥� we were allowed to go. There was no transport so I walked all five miles to Statton Road. My Mother said 鈥淗ello, are you alright鈥� and being satisfied with my presence put the kettle on 鈥� no hugs, kisses or tears 鈥� we were not like that, just glad to see each other again. I never knew hat turmoil my mother endured, whether or not any tears were shed, but I am sure she spent time on her knees praying and going to church on Sunday with a brave face. My bother George, two years my senior, who desperately wanted to be soldier worked on munitions at the ATM and was therefore in a reserved occupation. This was a blessing for my mother. I had arranged after consulting the RTO at Exchange Station that we would commence our journey back to Scotland after thirty six hours in Liverpool and my party all turned up on time and back we went to The Highlands.
Our next move took us to Crief and the luxury of lying on the floor of The Crief Hydro, stripped of all its luxurious fittings and furnishings. We set up a small hospital for the military located in the area. What happened next changed the course of my life. A wisdom tooth that had given me pain and problems in France reminded me there was an unsolved problem in my mouth and a trip to the Dentist on the next floor down resulted in an appointment to remove the offending tooth. He was only a newly qualified Dentist but did his best to wrestle the impacted tooth from my jaw bone. I bled profusely and by bedtime the pain was excruciating. I reported sick the next day and given a few aspirins and the blond haired young Doctor who got back from France five days before me ordered me back to work. It worsened and next morning he accused me of malingering and marked my record sheet in red 鈥渇it for all duties鈥�. I had to wait nearly five years to get even with him as you will discover if you reach my memories of my last days in India. My colleagues took a bottle of aspirin from the medical supplies and trying to ease the pain I took far too many, so they brought my Company Commander to me who quickly appreciated the pain, badly swollen face and high temperature were cause for concern so I was evacuated to a larger hospital. It was in its own grounds and staffed by Red Cross nurses and I had a room to myself, magnificently decorated and the likes of which I had never seen before 鈥� I had never stayed in a hotel so this was a new experience. I asked the nurse the name of the hospital and she told me in a very high class Scottish Accent 鈥淭his is the Gleneagles Hotel鈥�.

鈥楾his story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions鈥�.

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